Gravlax in Dill Sauce
by Rebecca Steven Taylor
Summary: A wander through Aziraphale's thought processes as Crowley tries to tempt him to fight Armageddon. Crowley offers him every inducement to fight except the only one that would work - himself


Armageddon will be lovely. Well, no, not lovely, there will be some smiting and so on. But afterwards, it will all be lovely. Peace and harmony and so on. All the demons will be welcomed back to Heaven. You'll see, we'll all be together.

Well, maybe I'll miss the music, as you put it. Celestial harmonies don't have quite the complexity of Mozart, or the emotion of Beethoven. But it will be lovely.

As for Glyndebourne and the Albert Hall, what use are they without…never mind.

Gravlax with dill sauce is delicious. And so is sushi. We don't eat in Heaven. Or drink, either. The glory of Heaven is supposed to feed all our needs, and it does, but…it's not that Heaven isn't beautiful. It is, of course. I know this because I am told it every time I go back there. All that harsh white light. All that holiness. All that superiority. I'm sure I will learn to love it again. I did once, didn't I?

Oh, my bookshop. I do love my bookshop. I wish Heaven was a little more like it. But of course it isn't clean and bright and only suits one person. Well, two.

But none of these are good enough reasons to disobey heaven and thwart Armageddon and try to destroy the Great Plan.

Why aren't you on the list of reasons, my dear?

OoOoO

I can't disobey. Do you know what happens to angels who disobey? Well, of course you don't, I've never told you. And you never see any of them down there. Gabriel stopped sending them to Hell a long time ago. No, angels who disobey – who just question, really – well, the lucky ones disappear forever. The others – they go away for a while and then come back with dead eyes and no memories.

I'd lose my memories of you. Every precious moment.

Tempt me a little more and finally, finally, you have found the one thing that will make me even think about breaking with Heaven. Not lunch, although well done on reminding me of Paris. You. My dearest, offer me you. Ask me for lunch, for drinks, for Armageddon. I'll do it all for you.

OoOoO

Drunk in the bookshop again. We do this so often, and it's a special occasion every time. Was it Rome we discovered how much we liked this? How well we synced together when we were drunk? Do you remember that time in Florence we got so uproariously drunk the tavern-keeper threw us out and you kept shouting they can't throw us out, he's an angel? I laughed so much. I only ever laugh when I'm with you. I love to make you laugh. We're the only two people in the world who can understand our wine-sodden conversations. I know your favourite wine. I know your favourite whisky. I pour without asking now, knowing exactly what you want and when. Can't you see what I mean when I do that?

Godfathers. Working together. Together. That's all I need to defy Heaven. You.

I want Earth to survive, I want humanity to live, because this is where we can be together. We, flawed and broken as we are, belong with humanity, and if we are to be together, and happy, and alive, we have to save it.

And all decided, you fall asleep on my sofa. A sofa I never use. I keep it clear of books, and make sure there is a cushion right where your head will fall and a blanket to cover you when you get cold and I will sit here all night and watch over you as you sleep. You're safe here, you know that, don't you? Do you understand? Do you understand what I have done for you, what it means?

At night I watch you sleep, and I hope, and I dream, and I yearn. I daren't confess, though. There is a part of me that always believes you will laugh at me, the way the angels do when I try to express my love for Heaven. Yes, very nice, they say, and behind their eyes I can see they don't want my love. Will you? Can you? Such a useless angel. If Heaven cannot love me, why would you?

Years ago, we went to a musical together about that young carpenter we saw die. We had been assured by both our respective head offices that it would be blasphemous. In the end, it wasn't. It wrenched my heart out, and you gave me a handkerchief as I sobbed. There was a line sung by a young woman 'If he said he loved me, I'd be lost, I'd be frightened. I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope. I'd turn my head, I'd back away, I wouldn't want to know.' The humans keep doing this, putting into words what I cannot express. That's why I love their words so much. That song, those lines - that's me. I have spent so long loving you in silence, no hope of a return, so certain that you cannot love me, that if you ever said the words, I'd run away in fear. I'm not good enough for you, my love. I will fight Armageddon for your sake, purely for your sake, but I can't admit I love you.

OoOo

You said it. Run away together. I was afraid. Of myself, of losing, of what they would do to you, of feeling more than I can possibly cope with, of burning up in a fire of love for you, of you walking away, and I did what I always knew I would do. I lost you.

OoOoOo

I came back to you. There was Heaven, all bright and shining, offering me position and glory and all I wanted was you. I flew through time and space to be with you and found you sobbing. Not for me, though. Your best friend. Who? You've never mentioned them. You have a whole life you never tell me about and my whole life is you. Come to the end of the world with me, my darling, and I will make it right. I turned away from Heaven for you. I will fight only for you. All for you. My ultimate temptation.

OoOoOoO

On our side. Come back to my place. And the way you look at me. I cannot stop looking at you. When I came back, when I was in a body of my own, I looked back at you and you looked shattered. Not even breathing. Just staring at me and all I could do was reach out a hand to you and tell you I was real, and the way you looked at me. You don't say the words, but your eyes, your eloquent beautiful eyes. Perhaps I would have hoped if I could have seen your eyes more. Just a brief second's touch, just to show you I was real, as the children faced down the Four Horseman, and I felt your hand trembling in mine and saw you look at me. I will treasure that. Whatever happens to us, I will think of your eyes last.

I had to let go. A moment's weakness right there could doom us both, if Beelzebub and Gabriel realised for one second that I would die for you. Not for them, not for Heaven, not for Earth, for you. And you – you came for me. Through fire and disaster you came for me, at the end of the world.

Was it me you were crying for?

OoOoOo

I reach down, nervous, almost terrified, unsure and insecure. You reach up, grab my hand, pull me down, and don't let go. There are words spoken and explanations given and apologies and declarations and memories and at the end, as the bus reaches home and you still hold my hand, and I tell you, you didn't need to offer me Mozart and gravlax in dill sauce to save the world, you only needed to offer me yourself, I fought Armageddon for you, you are my only, my sole, my ultimate temptation.

That's funny, you say. I fought Armageddon for you.

We saved the world so we could have a world for each other, and how silly it was of us not to know this before. And, like all good stories should, this one ended with a kiss.


End file.
